


your sweet moonbeam.

by flydale_north



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Community: pacificrimkink, Invasion of Privacy, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, The Drift (Pacific Rim), halp, marathon wanking sessions, no srsly, vegetable fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flydale_north/pseuds/flydale_north
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann is a glutton for sensation. Newton drifts with him and maybe sort of finds out. And gets extremely turned on. Don't even lie. You would too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For _billiethepoet_ , who literally [injured me with fic](http://eveningofmylife.tumblr.com/post/58087318482/fucking-pacific-rim-again-again-again).
> 
> Her prompt, as relayed over Tumblr:  
>  _I threw a prompt on the kink meme that basically proposed that the reason Hermann keeps himself so tightly controlled and buttoned up is because he’s really a mutli-orgasmic, glutton for sensation that will shove anything remotely shaped like a cock up his ass to get off. He’d lock himself in his room and jerk off all day if tempted so he doesn’t indulge at all. Newt finds out in some hilarious and embarrassing way and takes Hermann apart._
> 
> I looked up the original prompt after I'd already planned most of the plot, and she actually originally stipulated tons of horny Jaeger pilots being available to do the dirty. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!

Newton Geiszler has one slick hand up his entrance. The other is curled around the bed frame, desperately, as his fingers work in and out. He fans and closes them once more, pulling and pushing to create friction, to feel them as clearly as he does his own viscera. It is almost too good, and his laboured breathing is periodically punctuated by small whimpers and delicate gasps. His cock bobs flush against his abdomen, leaking into his navel, as yet untouched. His free hand moves to clench the bed sheets, mindlessly working the fabric with scrabbling fingers.

He is _so close_ –

With a calculated twist of his hand, he is coming in great spurts, crying out with the pleasure of it. He bears down around his own fingers, gasping, and moves to stroke his cock at last. Gently, with only the sides of two fingers, just enough to wring out the last shuddering throe.

As Newton lies in his own damp sheets, an announcement rings through the Shatterdome. He doesn’t quite catch it for his heart pounding through his head, and squints over at the alarm clock on the desk; his reading glasses are nowhere to be found, but it looks to be about 1900 hours. Dinner. Damn it. Which means he’s been at it for at least four hours.

He finally drops his beleaguered hand, and with his other, sweeps trembling fingertips over the ground. The tip of his index finger brushes lacquered wood, and he crooks his finger to prod it in his direction. Newton grasps the curved head of his cane and uses it to pull himself more fully upright, still shaking uncertainly, then, with great effort, getting up to clean up in his private facilities. He looks down absentmindedly, noting expanses of pale skin, and –

Newton jolts awake, sweating, and apparently covered in his own ejaculate.

“Christ almighty. Holy. Just. Holy eff,” he says, which is as coherent as he thinks he has the right to be. 

He grasps at the tendrils of his dream, trying to remember what the shit he’d gotten himself all worked about, and –

– and finds the sights and sensations flooding back to his mind with all the potency of a fully-experienced memory.

(Honestly, it would have taken only one doctorate for him to put the pieces together. He’s too overqualified for his own good.)

_Last night. The drift. Hermann and I . . . we saved the world . . . we . . ._

“I’ll be God damned.”

Too winded to even get up and changed, Newton closes his eyes. Images of prep school flood his mind.

Newton has never been to prep school.


	2. Chapter 2

“May I come in?”

It’s 0700 hours, and Hermann’s hair is wet, his face scrubbed. Newton notes – though seriously not “to his dismay”, no, how could he even think that? – that, despite the hour, Hermann has already showered and dressed, olive green shirt buttoned to his laryngeal prominence, pressed gray slacks definitely not marvellously hugging his thighs. The only thing amiss about his pristine appearance is the crimson smear across his left eye. 

Newton is still not exactly sure why he’s here. Okay, he has an idea, but in the last 48 hours, the world hasn’t been particularly kind in supporting his hypotheses. The Kaiju happened to be ruled by overlords. Females of their species mated – and became pregnant. The breach could, in fact, be sealed. And Hermann . . . Hermann . . .

Hermann, his unruffled, unspoiled, unexciting lab partner would love nothing more than to writhe with delight, impaled upon a cock (or anything approximating one), arching his back and curling his toes, every touch an electric spark down his spine. Newton has seen it all, seen why he buttons high up his neck and far down his sleeves. It’s not _becoming_ for a doctor of some status to experience every touch as a lover’s caress. Better to lock it in, hide that fact even from himself, out of sight and presumedly out of mind.

The two have worked together for the majority of their academic lives. After a while, you think you know someone, even if you didn’t always agree. Newton certainly knew how to rouse the man into a blustering fit, to calm his nerves with a well-placed word, to tease a hard-won smile from his lips. But Newton had little motivation to consider his colleague a sexual being, much less one with the same personal leanings as his own, much less one who, when left to his own devices (as he usually was), was a veritable _sex kitten_.

Under that stern face? The one regarding him right now with knitted brow? Hermann steps to the side to allow Newton through. “Yes. Yes, of course,” he says, with a hint of concern. Newton all but tiptoes past, trying not to get too close. Hermann closes the door behind him and turns on Newton. “Is there something wrong?”

In his haste, Newton had not even thought up an excuse as to why he was calling in the early morning, when surely what they all deserved was a day of peace and quiet before the entire world regrouped. Newton takes a second to consider, wondering if Hermann had any interesting dreams about him last night. Doubtful. Newton is no wide-eyed virgin, but Hermann has suddenly made his entire life seem like vanilla ice cream to his rocky road. His face doesn’t seem to betray any inappropriate thoughts, but when had it ever?

“I was just, erm,” he stammers, then stops. 

“Last night, when I was asleep . . . erm,” he tries again, then stops.

“You never told me you went to Eton,” is what he finally comes up with. It seems simple enough, but Hermann’s eyes widen – whether in fear of his own sanity or Newton’s, Newton cannot say.

“You . . . yes. I . . . ” Hermann trails off, and Newton offers a silent prayer. _Roll with it. Please. I can’t say it, but maybe you can get there yourself._ “I spent my formative years in Britain. But why . . . ?”

_Please._

“Why the sudden . . . Is it important for our work somehow? Where I was educated?”

“Not exactly work-related, erm, but for us, your life, my life . . . there’s been a complication, I guess you would call it.”

_Please._

The gears whir in Hermann’s eyes. They narrow. “What do you want to know about Eton?”

“I . . . You developed a certain sense of style there, I think.”

_Please._

The teetering ball drops. Hermann inhales sharply . . . then visibly sags. Newton almost moves to catch him, but remembers that he needs to be delicate. Anyway, Hermann always hates it when he tries to offer physical support, as though he were somehow not capable himself.

To his credit, Hermann’s voice only shakes a little. “Maybe we should sit down.” There is only one chair, and Hermann takes it, which Newton admits is the safer option in his situation. Newton sits at the very edge of the bed.

“What did you see?” Hermann says, very softly, almost resignedly.

Just as quietly, Newton discloses the fatal word: “Everything.” Before it can get too bad, he tries to amend, “ . . . but I don’t think it’s that weird, I mean, we all have our things, and I don’t . . . I don’t think less of you as a person or an academic because of it. I wouldn’t have even brought it up, except . . .” He takes a breath. “ . . . Except we did pretty well last night, didn’t we? I really couldn’t have done it without you, and I think . . . I think we deserve to celebrate, a little bit.”

Hermann closes his eyes. The word he eventually latches on to is, “ . . . We?”

“Think about it, Hermann,” Newton ventures. “You’ve seen just as much of me as I have of you. You know . . . You know it’s not unprecedented.”

After several long moments, during which Newton takes as many deep breaths as he can, Hermann opens his eyes. 

“I admit I . . . I do not admit that I am not . . . tempted.” He licks his lips. Newton longs to lick them too. “But historically, indulging in my . . . proclivities has not always ended well for me. Rarely, in fact.”

Newton makes a judgement. He leans forward and places his hand on Hermann’s, not too firmly, but enough that his warmth is pressing down on Hermann’s pale skin. He drags his thumb across flesh still damp from showering.

“Please, Hermann. We both want this. Let me take care of you.”

Hermann’s eyes lock with his. And Newton knows he has won.


	3. Chapter 3

Newton stands, with what he hopes is a reassuring smile on his face, the one that says, “It’s going to be all right” – the one that he deigns to bestow upon Hermann whenever his programming is being frustrating, or when he wants to tell him that he is just _joking_ , gosh. No matter how much he believes that Hermann is attracted to the idea of “celebrating”, this is a delicate situation, and Newton doesn’t want to scare him off, ruining their relationship from this point forward when it’s just risen to extraordinary heights.

From what he’d seen, Hermann struggles daily to put his predilections out of his mind, when really all he wants is to be touched until, several hours later, his entire body is buzzing in afterglow. Never mind the probability of someone _else_ looking out for him; in the past, that aspect had largely not ended well for either party. On the rare occasions that he did open up – to Julian, in prep school; to Spencer, at Cambridge – he found himself so overcome by the joy of companionship that the other party found him a taxing commitment and eventually broke it off. In the later case, word had gotten around Selwyn College that Hermann was some kind of deviant, which was in no small part of the reason why he transferred all the way to Technische Universität when he was 21.

Newton hopes to Hermann’s God above that Hermann knows enough about _him_ to remember that the harder the challenge, the more he fights for it. He changes his small touch on Hermann’s hand to a more genuine clasp as he stands, pulling so that Hermann will come up with him. After a few moments, during which Hermann seems to be holding his breath, he follows, left hand on his cane but right hand sitting tightly in Newton’s grasp.

Hermann swallows, and when he speaks, his voice is endearingly throaty. “Forgive me. I was unprepared for a liaison of this nature when I woke this morning.”

Newton’s smile crinkles his eyes. “I was unprepared for the hottest wet dream I’ve had in, like, forever, and I’ve told you about the tentacle one, dude,” he says. Hermann flushes. “You’re so fucking unbelievable, Hermann. I would have done this a lot sooner had I known you’d be up for it. I’d totally thought that you were all prim and uptight because you had this uppity smuffity upbringing. I’m a smart guy, but I couldn’t have read you more wrong.”

“It seems I was also mistaken in reading your . . . type.”

“Are you kidding me? Have you _seen_ the damn things I've littered my body with? Most of the last ten years has been dedicated to doing impossible things. Until last night, I thought _you_ were one of those things.”

Hermann looks into his eyes. “And now?”

“And now, I’d really like to kiss you so we can get this party started.”

For a split second, Hermann looks indignant at the word “party”, but then Newton pushes in and presses his lips to Hermann’s. He moves one arm to bring Hermann’s neck in closer, but rests the other hand on top of Hermann’s, the one holding the cane, and gently strokes, strokes, strokes the soft skin there. Hermann makes a pained noise in the back of his throat, like he’s wanted such contact for a very long time. His free hand finds the small of Newton’s back and pulls him in tightly, and if Newton was a bit self-conscious about how their pre-sex pep talk had already made him half hard, he is more than a little pleased to find out that Hermann has been similarly compromised.

He pulls away slightly, and he and Hermann share a shaking breath. He raises his fingers to Hermann’s topmost button. “Can I . . . Is this okay?”

Hermann nods, small, rapid shakes, then says, “Only if I may do the same.”

“Hell yes you can.”

Newton had neglected his customary _totally_ stylish tie this morning, the better to give Hermann access. Hermann props his cane against the chair and their fingers scramble over each other’s buttons, pulling sleeves down arms and finally throwing the wrinkled garments onto the floor. 

What Newton longs to do now is go right in for the trouser button, but he wants to test a theory first. He brings his hands up to Hermann’s waist and worms his fingers gently. Hermann does a combination of three things at once, an intake of breath as a laugh escapes his lips and turns into a moan. He doesn’t pull away. Newton moves his hands more firmly now, genuinely trying to tickle. Hermann bites his lip and whimpers and squirms against his touch, but still doesn’t pull away. _He likes it,_ Newton crows inwardly. _He really burns for every touch._ And if that isn’t the hottest thing, he doesn’t know what is.

He pushes one hand broadly across Hermann’s stomach and sweeps the other up to his chest, hoping that his warmth will permeate Hermann’s goosepimply skin. He stops at one of Hermann’s nipples and circles his index finger around it. As it hardens, Hermann whimpers a bit more and then seems to wobble. Newton knows Hermann can stand with his weight on one leg for a remarkably long time, but doesn’t have much faith that his ministrations won’t destabilize his entire structure. Pressing another swift kiss to Hermann’s lips, he maneuvers him 90˚ and pushes him backwards onto the double bed. He then kneels and moves his hands to the button on Hermann’s trousers and pops it open deftly, watching Hermann’s face for signs that he wants out. Hermann’s eyes are closed tightly and he is breathing heavily through his mouth, and Newton takes that as unspoken consent.

“Lift up a little bit, Dr. Gottlieb,” he says, pulling Hermann’s trousers over the growing bulge under his boxer shorts (which are green; does the man color-coordinate his skivvies?). With more skin showing at last, Newton scratches fingernails over the backs of Hermann’s shins and then finally, finally, reaches to palm Hermann through his shorts.

Hermann bucks into his touch, moaning, and Newton takes a few moments to just run his palm over Hermann’s cock. He’d always found it a little bit erotic to keep the last layer of fabric there to tease the skin underneath, enough to bring sensual delight but frustrating enough to build the tension to new heights. Newton wants to touch his own cock, but knows instinctively that he’ll have to have monumental stamina to keep up. He settles with shimmying out of his own trousers, using his toes to kick off his shoes. 

Judging by the way Hermann is jerking his hips into Newton’s touch, he doesn’t seem to mind the slightly dampened stimulation at all. Newton pulls himself upward to pepper him with small kisses, between which Hermann lets out breathy gasps into Newton’s mouth. He pulls away after a long while, and asks, “What do you need me to do?”

Hermann opens his eyes and blinks at him wetly. He seems lost for words. Or maybe just hesitant to ask.

“Hermann,” Newton says, kissing him once more.

“I want you . . . your . . . ” Hermann says, out of breath, and Newton wastes no more time. He doesn’t have to dig through his memories to know that Hermann keeps his lubrication underneath piles of endearingly oversized sweater vests, rather than simply in his bedside table, where it would be too distracting. He stands, hopping out of his trousers, and picks it out of the dresser drawer. When he turns around, Hermann is looking up at him, leaning back on his elbows.

Newton climbs onto the bed, helping Hermann to turn around so he’s lying on it lengthwise. He moves his hands to the waistband of Hermann’s boxers and peels the offending layer off Herman’s hips and down his legs. He draws his hands back over Hermann’s thighs and circles his palms reassuringly. Every touch seems to blow sparks in Hermann’s brain. Newton suddenly laments for every year he's lost not having done this sooner.

“Ready?” he asks. Hermann certainly looks ready. Newton hinges the cap off the bottle of lubricant and smooths the slick liquid over his fingers. He helps Hermann bend and spread his legs, being mindful of the stiffness of the left, then wriggles one finger onto his entrance before pushing slowly inside.

Hermann lets out a choked groan. Newton twists his finger as he enters, stroking Hermann’s inner walls the way he’s seen – and even felt – him do to himself. When one finger doesn’t seem enough, he adds a second, and then a third, spreading them and thrusting gently in and out. Hermann is biting his lip, his silly hair all over the place on his pillow, but pulls his lip free with what can only be described as a strangled scream when Newton crooks his fingers and strokes with firm pressure. His cock is flushed dark, and as Newton continues to stimulate the nerve bundle that is slowly taking Hermann apart, he leaks tremendous amounts of fluid onto his lower abdomen.

Newton bends at the wrist as he moves his body upward, shifting until he can lick at one puckered nipple. He looks up at Hermann’s face and sees that Hermann’s brows are creased, and his mouth parted in rapture. Newton blows cool air into Hermann’s mouth then kisses him on the corner of his lips. He adjusts his angle to press his fingers more deeply.

“Hermann,” he says.

“Newton,” Hermann gasps. “Newt–!” 

With a sustained cry, Hermann’s hips still and he comes in spurts over his stomach and chest. Newton almost dies a little death at the sight of him, rocking his hips against Hermann’s thigh. Newton keeps carressing his prostate as Hermann shudders through it, stopping only when Hermann starts to whimper from overstimulation.

Or so Newton thought. Hermann tosses and turns on his pillow. “Newton,” he sighs. “Please . . . ” he adds, as he moves to stroke his own cock. Newton realizes what is happening and bats his hand away, replacing it with his own.

As Hermann groans and starts to harden immediately into his hand, Newton thinks, “One.”


	4. Chapter 4

Newton didn’t think there could be anything more beautiful than watching Hermann’s face contort in climax, eyes fluttering skyward and mouth dropping open – probably the least dignified Newton has ever seen him, and probably the most ridiculous. He was forced to revise his assessment some time later: Without a doubt, the best face Hermann ever made was when he came, clenching and gasping, the _second_ time. Or was it the third? Newton’s heart is pounding. Hermann has come no fewer than four times and Newton surrenders to the fact that he’ll outdo himself in beauty interminably.

Hermann is dry climaxing by this point and his thrusts become, if possible, more desperate than ever before. Each successive orgasm has seemed to push him to a higher plateau upon which he flies, for a time, before careering ever higher. At Hermann’s almost wordless prompting, Newton is working both his prostate and his cock, slipping one tight hand rapidly over the smooth skin of his rigid shaft. Hermann’s usual whimpers, timed perfectly in rhythm with each upward twitch of his hips, start – to Newton’s concern – degenerating into small sobs. 

“Babe,” he says. (He’s never called Hermann “babe” before, but it seems permissable, given the circumstances.) “What is it?”

“I . . . it’s . . . I’m . . . ” Hermann stammers, between breaths, licking his bottom lip and looking imploringly at Newton through half-lidded, blinking eyes.

“Shhh. Shh. Hermann,” Newton murmurs, slowing the clip of his fingers around Hermann’s cock. Hermann’s hips give a frantic jerk to compensate for the sudden decreased stimulation, but then Hermann bites his lip and seems to make a concerted effort to regulate his breathing. He is clearly drunk on sensation, but manages to control himself enough to focus on Newton's face. Newton wants Hermann a bit more cognizant, but doesn’t want to ruin his orgasm, so he keeps a regular pattern of motion upon Hermann’s cock. A tightening of his thumb and forefinger to give resistance to the head as it pops through his fingers, a sturdy twist as he moves upwards, an occasional swipe of his thumb through the weeping slit.

“Tell me, Hermann,” he says softly. “What can I give you? Tell me what you need.”

Hermann swallows, his throat bobbing under pale and sweat-slicked skin. "If you wouldn’t mind,” he proffers, with a scrap of his customary decorum, “your tongue would be much appreciated.”

_Jesus Christ,_ Newton thinks desperately. _Keep it together, Newt. Fuck._

“Oh, Hermann. Baby,” he half groans. "Let me show you just how much I mind.”

With some deft maneuvering, Newton finds a position that allows him to sit eye-level with Hermann’s cock while still keeping two fingers up his ass. This position also lets him grind against Hermann’s lush flannel sheets, which he can’t say is a particular nuisance. He takes a few moments just to close his eyes and wiggle his hips, then moves his free hand to the base of Hermann’s cock as he carefully takes the head into his mouth. To be honest with himself, it’s been a long time, and while he would like to pretend he can deep-throat like a mofo, his pride is tempered by his will to make sure he can give Hermann what he desperately needs at this point. He explores carefully, curling his tongue up against the base of the head. He can’t see Hermann’s face without some considerable strain, so relies on other physical cues to judge how he’s doing.

An urgent spasm of the hips – not a bad sign. An uncontrolled shriek of pleasure – Newton can’t hold that against himself either. He moans, fully aware that this only serves to increase the vibrations against Hermann’s cock. Slowly, carefully, he works his way down, listening intently to Hermann’s sharp gasps and fragile whimpers as he encroaches upon every successive millimeter. He makes sure to pause at regular intervals to pull off with tight and sloppy relish. Hermann’s hands move to clutch at him, long fingers massaging through his scalp as he draws himself up and down.

It’s a bit more work, three centers of stimulation instead of two, but Newton has soon figured out a pattern of moving one hand in tandem with his mouth while crooking his fingers deep and just right. Apparently this is the extra kick that Hermann needed. Newton can tell it is taxing Hermann to distraction to tease out this climax, but after a few minutes during which he is almost certain he’s nearly sucked Hermann’s cerebrum right out of his cock, his hips give a final, wretched jolt.

“I’m . . . Newton, Newton, _ohh_ . . . ” he moans, and then he is gone. There is nothing to swallow, but Newton swallows anyway, hoping the sensation will ripple out of the back of his throat and sustain Hermann's gratification.

When Hermann’s body loosens again and his cock has softened in his mouth, Newton sits up, watching Hermann heave and sigh into his pillow.

“Another go?” he asks, hovering his hand just above Hermann’s pubis.

Hermann chuckles weakly, and there are tears in his eyes. “I think not, actually. For the moment, anyway,” he adds, flushing along the lines of his graceful cheekbones. He takes a few more breaths, then rocks up on one shaky elbow, reaching to stroke Newton across his jaw. “You’ve been so very patient, Newton. More patient than I believe I deserve, and to say that I am thankful would be a gross understatement." Newton opens his mouth to protest, but Hermann silences him with a thumb across his lips. "Please tell me what you need from me now. If it is within my power, you will have it and more.”

“God, Hermann,” Newton replies dizzily, his voice catching in his throat. “I’m pretty sure I’m only going to last about three seconds, but I really, really want to fuck you. Like, asap.”

Hermann smiles benevolently, eyes crinkling, and lies back, crooking a deft finger at Newton. Newton groans in relief and reaches down to position himself just right between Hermann’s hips. He slides one hand around a sinewy asscheek and lines himself up with the other. Just in case, he locks eyes with Hermann and rasps, “Are you . . . Are you okay?”

“I believe I have been for quite a while, darling,” Hermann says, with a breathy laugh. “Do go on ahead.”

It’s not as if Newton could have held off for another second, anyway; he is nearly insensate. He pushes forward, choking on a whimper as he breaches Hermann’s ring of muscle, pliant by this point but no less tight around his length. He lets out a long groan as he enters him fully, pausing when he is entirely inside to collect himself so that he can say what he’s wanted to say ever since Hermann let him into the deepest and most hidden part of himself.

“Hermann – ” he says, gritting out every syllable. He pulls out again and pauses once more.

“We are totally going to do this again,” he continues, keeping up a slow rhythm and breathing heavily through his mouth. “And again. Oh, _fuck_ yes. And next time I’ll bring – ” he adds, reaching into his memory (Hermann’s memory). “An electric toothbrush – ”

“Oh, Lord,” Hermann whispers, jerking his hips upwards in spite of himself.

“And candlesticks – ” Newton is so close that his mind is going fuzzy, but he presses on. “ – and parsnips – because – ” (oh God, he’s close, so very close) –

“Fuck – those parsnips were hot,” he finishes, and comes messily, with a resounding groan.

Newton floats on air for at least half a minute before he realizes that he has collapsed next to Hermann, who is cradling him in both arms, carding through his tousled hair with unsteady fingers.

“You’re not going to regret this, Hermann,” he whispers into his neck, kissing the cooling skin. “Not ever. You went into the drift with me – for me – and I’m not going to let you regret anything.”

Hermann makes a small, uncertain noise. “I would urge you to think on your words before you make such ambitious promises,” he says, but there is a sparkle of hope in his voice.

Newton sits up slowly, gently extricating himself from Hermann’s hands. He leans down and kisses Hermann gently, suckling on his lower lip before pulling free again.

“Hermann, dude. Even if you hadn’t been inside my head in the past 24 hours, we’ve known each other for, what, ten years? You know me as well as I know you. And you know that when I say I mean it, I fucking mean it.”

A lopsided smile comes to Hermann’s face. “Yes. I suppose you were always stubborn like that,” he says, pulling Newton down for another kiss. “I must say, however . . . I rather do hope you were not kidding me about the parsnips.”

Newton grins, happier than he can remember being in his entire life. “Believe you me. I wasn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck, I really wasn't supposed to have finished this until after a huge, three-subject exam on Monday, but I hammered out some things during the 15 minute commute to class and then couldn't stop myself from writing this instead of paying attention. Now that this isn't hanging over my head anymore, I might have to start applying myself again, damn it all.
> 
>  
> 
> If you've gotten this far, I hope you enjoyed. It's been my first foray into fic writing since literally one fic from inception_kink three years ago (which I didn't even finish), and before that I think I wrote some Harry Potter stuff in 2000 when I was in middle school, idk idk. Any awkward phrasing is my unschooled fault, and any mistakes are also my un-betaed fault.


End file.
